From the vantage point of a greater age than theirs at the time, I could see that they really did do the best they could with what they had, which wasn’t a whole lot, and that much of what they did was really good. My father—always a pretty feisty guy—softened considerably in his old age, and it blessedly became possible to be kind to him on a regular basis without risking snarling and snapping, which was infinitely sweeter than any imaginable revenge for even the most enlarged sense of grievance. Years later, when my mother entered into dementia and the persona she had painstakingly constructed over a lifetime fell away, a truly sweet person emerged, and our relationship became truly sweet. She died peacefully, of a cold, at the age of 98; by the time I was summoned she was already unresponsive. I spent her last day by her side, singing to her and asking the local nature spirits to come and accompany her: a proselytizing atheist, she did love nature. At some point, I heard myself saying, “All is forgiven.” It felt so good that I said it again, but the magic, or miracle, had already happened the first time—any and all lingering resentment which by then I wasn’t even aware of carrying anymore instantly evaporated, leaving only love, and peace. My mother had not asked me for forgiveness, nor did I presume to forgive her—I did not say, “I forgive you.” I heard myself saying, “All is forgiven,” and the One who is all Forgiveness—the very Spirit of Forgiveness—did all the healing.
The hardest one to forgive is, naturally, the unholy triumvirate of me, myself, and I. I’ve been mad at myself for all the times I’ve played the role of oppressor and tried to make someone else a victim (worse if I succeeded), the times I’ve played victim for sympathy, and the times others have actually victimized me, for which I have held myself responsible—if only I were made entirely of case-hardened steel instead of mere flesh and blood, none of that shit would have happened to me! Or, most often, I’m in need of my own forgiveness for my part of whatever it was, which is usually taking other people’s words and deeds too personally and too much to heart. Much as I would like never to be caught in a mistake ever again, there’s something very sweet about knowing that I have good reason to be humble. So sometimes I’m grateful for my imperfections. At other times, I still find myself holding a grudge against myself, which is, let’s face it, just so unkind.
If I can see all my relationships as running from me to the source of all Love and Light, and from there to all my relations, including me, then it’s easier to surrender and hand over all the grudges, all the resentment, all the remorse and regret, and all the rest of it to the One Love that does all the forgiving. Your own heart knows what will work best for you.
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